


The Lonely Marchwarden

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Back to Middle-Earth Month, Gen, Quadruple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Eöl encounters a trespasser.





	The Lonely Marchwarden

**Author's Note:**

> For B2MeM, 3/26/19! The prompts were Hermit from the Archetypes card, "heroes/recluse/ten/initial" from the Four Words card, "Why I can smile, and murders while I smile..." from the Shakespeare Quotes card, and The Rustic, Simpleton Sindar from the Silm Fanon Trope Inversion card. All of those together immediately made me think of Eol, and wonder how he got to where he was. Perhaps he used to be a marchwarden who acted improperly and was banished from Doriath... He certainly has reason to resent the Noldor.

He emerges from the shadows, and she stumbles backward in fear. He is clothed in black, and she cannot tell where the his cloak ends and the darkness begins. Her initial impression is one of terror: he wields two blades, fearsome swords blacker than the Darkening of Valinor had been.

"Why do you trespass within Doriath?" he demands. Of course. Only a Sinda could be so crude to a wanderer.

"I c-come bearing a message from Lord C-Caranthir," she stutters. "Who...who are you?"

"I am Eöl, the lonely marchwarden," he hisses. "And who are you?"

She shudders, afraid. "Vinimë."

* * *

The mighty heroes of the Noldor have sent another messenger. Eöl's lip curls in a grim smile. They think his people primitive, rustic. She is no exception.

"Vinimë," he repeats, stepping forward. He prods her with the tip of the sword he carries in his right hand and she squeaks childishly. "Your Quenya names taste sour on my tongue. Neither Thingol or his marchwardens wish to hear more of your words. This is our land."

She flinches. "I am but a messenger. My lord will not—"

"If you press further," he growls, "all you need worry about are my blades."

* * *

This man, this lonely marchwarden, terrifies her more than ten warriors of the Noldor could. Vinimë is no coward, but she is no fighter, either.

It is his smile that disturbs her most of all. Even as he advances, malice in his eyes, she trembles at his mocking smirk.

"I cannot return without delivering my message," she whispers, stumbling away from his two pitch-black blades. "I am bound to my lord's service—"

"And I to the service of this realm," Eöl says, still smiling. "I can cut you down here, Vinimë. It will be easy."

She believes him.

He advances.

* * *

Eöl grins even as he is forced to his knees before the king, his bloodstained hands bound. "Shall you kill me, Thingol?" he asks.

He hates the king as much as he hates the Noldo woman he murdered. Thingol shines with awful light just as she did; he thinks himself better than his own people. Eöl regrets nothing.

"No," Thingol says slowly. "But I hereby banish you, Eöl, to Nan Elmoth."

"Nan Elmoth!" he exclaims.

"To darkness you are drawn," Thingol imparts. "In darkness you must live, a recluse, lonely forever."

Eöl laughs, shaking off his bonds. "Lonely, but free."

**Author's Note:**

> Vinimë's name means "childish" in exilic Quenya. Thanks to [realelvish.net](http://realelvish.net/) for all the names I could ever need!
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


End file.
